


Deciding Who You'll Be

by JustAnotherNarrator



Series: The Stages of Being Series [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a soft demon boi (Good Omens), POV Second Person, Reader isn't much of an angel anymore, Reader-Insert, more like Human Plus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:05:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherNarrator/pseuds/JustAnotherNarrator
Summary: You can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he stopped calling youangel, and started calling youloveinstead, but regardless, you cannot say you mind the change.[Written as a continuation ofMissing Who You WereandUnderstanding Who You Arewhich I would recommend reading first.]





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been a full week now since Crowley first appeared in front of you on the street, seemingly out of nowhere, wanting to talk now that Hell isn’t watching his every move. A full week since you admitted the true reason you had trouble looking him in the eye, along with the fact that you aren’t much of an angel anymore. A full week since he decided the two of you needed to go out and get drunk and you danced for the very first time. A full week since you realised that certain feelings, despite being buried for millennia, can be surprisingly easy to reignite.

Over the past seven days, the two of you have been spending an impressive amount of time together. Catching up on 6000 years apart isn’t something that happens quickly after all. Every morning, he just shows up in front of your building and the two of you start walking and talking, stopping for food or drink or simply to marvel at the glorious city around you, and you carry on until late in the night, finding yourselves drinking in some café until they kick you out. After that, he walks you home and the next day, the cycle begins anew.

During your walk on day two, as you strolled along the Seine around midday, he mentioned Aziraphale again and this time, he noticed the look on your face and how you crossed your arms as if to protect yourself from his words. He stopped walking and questioned what was wrong, eyebrows coming together over his sunglasses. You tried to hold your tongue but to no avail and finally, the question that had been on your mind for an extremely long time just came bursting out of you. 

“Why… why did you replace me with him?” You wished your voice hadn’t shaken the way it had, but now it was out in the open and you’d finally get an answer to the question you’d been torturing yourself with since you first spotted the pair together in Galilee, oh so long ago. “If you were fine with fraternising with an angel… why not me?”

His mouth hung open for a moment, his entire body language changing from his usual over-the-top coolness to looking, for lack of a better word, deflated; his shoulders fell as he ran a hand through his hair, before adjusting his sunglasses. “Is that… Is that really what you think I did?” He questioned in a strangled voice, and you weren’t quite certain if it was from anger or disappointment. All you knew was that it left an unpleasant feeling inside your gut when you heard it. “You really think I just got up here and _replaced_ you? Do you really think I could do something like that?”

You moved away from him to go and stand by the water’s edge, watching your reflection in it; your arms still crossed, one thumb unconsciously brushing against your upper arm as you tried to comfort yourself. “What else was I supposed to think,” you answered as you felt him approaching before even seeing his figure that stopped just behind your own watery double. “I got down here a few hundred years before Noah and his floating menagerie and after a while, I finally found you, and you looked at me like I was dirt before running away. Then, at the Crucifixion, there you are again, this time with another angel. Just talking, as if… as if it was normal… After wracking my brain, I realised it probably _was_ normal and your problem wasn’t with fraternising with the other side, but with fraternising with _me_...”

He seemed shocked for a moment, his frown grew more pronounced as he came even closer, standing just a step or two behind you. “Angel, I didn’t replace you with Aziraphale. I just-- I just made a new friend. That’s all.” One more step and he was right next to you, craning his neck to try and catch your eye and you let him, trying to read his expression around his dark shades. He reached out a hand as if to uncross your arms but seemingly thought better of it as he dropped it back down by his side. “It was never about you... or against you for that matter. I’m sure you’ve made other friends up there or, at least, here, since you came to Earth... _right?_ ”

“I told you,” you sighed, finally turning to face him as you dropped your arms heavily. “Gabriel and Michael made sure everyone kept the widest of berth around me…” Once again, the weight of the world felt like it was resting on your shoulders, pushing you down toward the ground and you chose to surrender to it, sitting down by the edge of the river. He took a seat next to you, for once, he appeared to have forgotten his desire to look effortlessly aloof and just crossed his legs, leaning toward you as you continued to speak, “and, of course, when I first got sent down to Earth, I did engage with the humans. I even got quite close to some of them. They were so curious, so full of life and interesting with their funny beliefs and personalities, but…”

“...but?”

“They die on you, don’t they?”

With the way the sun was shining, you caught a glimpse of his eyes and you knew he’d had the same experience in the past. He nodded and dropped the subject; what else was there to say really? That was the downside of immortality, wasn’t it? Everyone else dying. Especially when your own side decided to turn their backs on you. For that reason alone, you were almost happy for him that he’d found another immortal to befriend, even if you couldn’t help feeling jealousy toward the other angel. 

The two of you kept quiet for some time, deep in thought over the humans you had lost over the years. It was hard, not to care for them, not to get involved in their lives but you’d chosen loneliness over heartbreak a long time ago; after all, one was a dull, daily ache while the other was a burning stab in the heart that lasted years, sometimes decades.

“That must have been very lonely,” he chimed up after a while and you just shrugged in response, before standing up again and helping him do the same. As you began walking again, he turned to you. “What did you mean when you said I ran away from you? Were you talking Babylon?”

“Well, yes!” This time it was your turn to look at him like he’d grown a second head. You remembered quite clearly how you’d stumbled upon him in one of the streets leading to the market. By that point you’d nearly stopped looking for him, and suddenly, there he was. When your eyes had met, you’d frozen in place for a moment, shaken by his new appearance at first, and then by the look on his face, before you regained your countenance, he’d taken off down a side alley. “You made it quite clear that day that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I only reacted that way because of how you looked at me,” he admitted, before recounting his version of the event. He’d been up there on a simple temptation job, and had been procrastinating going back down to Hell when he’d spotted you at the other end of the street; you’d obviously noticed him already but when he’d looked right at you and you’d stopped dead in your track, the look on your face had been one of shock and horror. “You looked at me like I wasn’t me anymore. Like I was some sort of… well, demon… I wasn’t sure what to do after that, so I went down the alley and waited, I thought, if you wanted to talk, you’d follow. You didn’t.”

You both paused and looked at each other, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. “We’re such idiots,” he voiced before you could, his disbelief and frustration mirroring yours. “This whole bloody mess was just a misunderstanding? Almost five thousand years we’ve held a grudge against each other…”

“...and it could all have been cleared up if we’d just talked to one another. Yes, it would appear so,” you completed, shaking your head at your own ridiculous stubbornness and misplaced anger of the past few millennia. 

The next day, the two of you had been sitting at a café, enjoying some people watching as the evening wore on. You both sat there, observing the humans meandering around you; the groups of friends laughing together, the parents struggling up the Metro stairs with their strollers - the Paris Metro system as it turned out had been created by his side and you couldn’t say you were surprised when he told you - and the couples lost in their own worlds. You loved this city, you had loved it for a very long time in fact.

“You should have seen this place a hundred years ago,” you told him, leaning back in your chair before taking a sip from your glass, memories mixing themselves with the present in your mind’s eye. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him smiling as you reminisced. “It just felt like a carnival, and it was so beautiful. The architecture, the music, the people. I don’t know how, but everyone always looked so happy and effervescent. Maybe it was the clothes… Oh, I loved the clothes then. They were brilliant!”

“They looked lovely on you too--” 

He stopped himself before he could say more but you’d been brought out of your memories and right back to the present as soon as the words left his lips. As you looked over to him, he seemed suddenly very focused on a dog with its owner on the other side of the street, and despite the fading light, you could tell his face and neck had gotten redder.

“Crowley? What do you mean, _they looked lovely on me_?”

“I-- I’m-- I’m imagining, that’s all,” he stammered in response before clearing his throat, and even though he had his sunglasses on, you knew he was avoiding your gaze.

“You’re lying.”

“Oh yeah! Of course, because I’m a demon, right,” he started, doing big overly dramatic hand gestures, his voice filled with false indignation. “And that’s just what demons do. They lie!”

“Crowley,” you repeated his new name, calmly. 

He sighed and turned back toward you, taking off his shades for a moment to rub his eyes before quickly putting them on again. “I might have been in Paris in 1923,” he explained, slowly, “and I might have happened to be at some bar where you were and…” He paused and looked right at you. “...you looked just… _angelic_.”

His word choice, or maybe it was the way he said it, without any sarcasm or hidden meanings, made your heart swell in your chest, and you just knew you were likely the one looking flustered at this point. You had to clear your throat and tear your eyes away from him before you could speak again. 

“Why were you here?”

He appeared to debate the question within himself and you wondered if he was looking for the right words or if he was choosing whether to lie or tell the truth. Regardless of the reason, his answer came out as an inaudible mumble under his breath, and for a moment, you wondered if he was embarrassed of what he’d been doing on this side of the Channel. Had he been there on some demonic mission?

“What was that,” you asked, leaning closer to hear him better.

“I said, I was checking up on you,” he repeated at full voice, throwing his hands up in the air before crossing his arms over his chest, not unlike the way a pouting child would.

You just sat there, staring at him, with what felt like a big lump lodged in your throat. He’d been checking up on you? Why? Had that been a one time thing or maybe-- Before you could ask, he’d began filling you in on the details you so desperately wanted, telling you how he had seen you one day in Athens watching a play when some of the men in the audience grew angry for some reason and were starting to rage in the stands near you. One of them had knocked you over and he’d rushed to your side to find you passed out, he’d managed to get you out of there and hurried away as you woke up. 

You remembered the day he was talking about, you’d been enjoying Aristophanes’ latest work, Lysistrata, when some rather drunk men behind you had begun to take offence in the subject of play. You’d gotten hit in the face by someone’s elbow, falling backwards when everything had gone dark. You’d come to outside the theater, having no recollection of how you’d gotten there. But now you knew.

“After that, every few hundred years or so, I just… felt the need to make sure you were okay,” he finished up with a sigh and a one-shoulder shrug as if he was trying to play this all off as some trivial little thing. “That did end up saving Aziraphale from getting himself discorporated at one point too,” he said with a chuckle before you urged him to carry on with just a look, which he happily obliged. He loved to being the center of attention after all. “So, I was here, checking up on you, during the Reign of Terror, and I felt him when I walked past the Bastille. Turns out, he’d been craving crêpes and...” He took a voice you assumed sounded somewhat like the Principality. “... _you can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris_ , and of course, he was dressed like an absolute dandy. That’s just how he is, but for someone so clever, I wonder how he can be so incredibly thick sometimes.”

You laughed with him at the whole anecdote, and for the first time since you’d become aware of his friendship with the other angel, you didn’t feel the clawing of jealousy deep inside of you. 

That night when he dropped you off in front of your building, just as you were about to step through the door, he leaned in quickly and for a second, there was a soft warmth on your cheek. Before you could even react, he was sauntering down the street, hands in his pockets as you stood there, the feeling of the kiss fading from your skin as it burned itself in your memory.

This sort of thing became a part of the daily routine from then on, always with him turning on his heels and walking away before you could say anything about it.

It was on day five though, that he escalated this as the two of you sat in a park, watching ducks swimming happily in a pond as children fed them ridiculous amounts of bread. Much to your surprise, Crowley had seemed quite enthralled with the birds as you concluded the story you’d been telling about how you’d inadvertently became a mousquetaire for a time. “...although that only lasted until the Queen began paying me a little too much attention,” you finished, laughing at the memories of running out of the palace as fast as your legs could carry you. 

As you’d turned attention back to his long form lounging beside you, just about to make some comment about a snake in the grass, he’d pushed himself up, quick as anything and placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss to your parted lips. He pulled back just enough to look at your face, and you at his, raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses. As soon as you gave the smallest of nods, not trusting your own words, he dove right back in again and this time, there was nothing chaste about it. His hands on either side of your face seemed to radiate warmth throughout your body. You tried as best as you could to keep up with him, to keep some semblance of control on the situation, but soon enough, you just gave in, letting him lead. After all, he obviously knew what he was doing and you couldn’t really say the same.

You watched him drop back down onto the grass when you finally broke apart, while you tried to slow your heartbeat, your lips almost bruised from the unforeseen, but pleasant, assault. You both stayed silent for a long time after that. Your brain struggling to process what had just happened, this was all incredibly overwhelming and confusing but undeniably enjoyable as well. 

Over the course of the next few days, these impromptu, feverish kisses too, along with other unexpected little touches here and there, joined in as part of the routine. Every time, he would initiate them and afterwards, neither of you would speak of them again.

And that is where you find yourself again. In one of those tender moments. Crowley’s arms around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his breath making the little hairs on your neck rise on ends. Except this time, the two of you are standing in your apartment as the pouring rain hits the windows and, this time, he says something. 

“I want you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley’s words echo in your head, over and over. _I want you._ Three simple words that have such consequences attached to them. You’ve heard them before since you’ve been sent to Earth, although rarely in such a gentle tone of voice. Sadly, his tone isn’t enough to keep you from freezing in his arms. After all, you’ve told him before that you had experienced sex and that it wasn’t something you had particularly enjoyed, so why would he suggest what you’re pretty certain he’s implying?

He must have picked up on your sudden stiffness as his arms begin to pull away from you, giving you some space, and immediately, you miss his warmth around you. Before all this, you would have expected him to be constantly cold, being a snake and all that, but as it turns out, demons run much hotter than humans and angels.

You turn to face him and the mix of emotions on his face feels like a cold hand gripping your insides, and it would likely only be worse if you could see his eyes. You go to speak and he interrupts before you have the chance.

“I should have just kept my bloody mouth shut,” he exhales, running both hands through his ginger hair. “That’s why I didn’t say anything before, I didn’t want to scare you away or something... Argh! I’m such an idiot!”

You watch on as he rages at himself, and you want to reach out but you’re not quite certain how to do it or what to say. It only occurs to you now, how much older the two of you are compared to the days back when you were both still angels. Older and slightly damaged by all that’s happened to you since.

“Forget what I said, love. Please.” 

You can’t pinpoint the exact moment when he stopped calling you _angel_ , and started calling you _love_ instead, but regardless, you cannot say you mind the change. 

“Crowley,” you say softly, as he stands in front of you, and even with his sunglasses on, you can tell he’s looking at you expectantly. You reach out with one hand, wrapping it around his wrist and brushing your thumb against his skin. Both of his eyebrows rise up and he swallows hard as you realise this is the first time you’ve initiated any kind of unnecessary touches between the two of you. “Did you mean...”

“As I said, forget I said anything,” he interrupts, waving the whole thing off with his other hand, as you notice you’re still holding on to his wrist, you feel heat rising to your cheeks as you let go and notice he looks disappointed in the lost of contact… and surprisingly enough, so are you. 

He walks over to your small table and drops himself heavily in the chair, picking up one of the wine glasses and gulping it down. You don’t have the heart to tell him it was yours. “I know you had bad experiences with sex before and I shouldn’t have pushed,” he concludes, throwing his hands up dramatically while dropping his head down as some sign of repentance. When he looks back up, you can already tell the next words out of his mouth are going to be some sort of teasing, just from the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. 

_Good, that should help break up the tension._

“Just know that if you ever decide you want to try again,” he tells you, in a voice that certainly must have led many humans to temptation, “I’m happy to help, and I’ll make absolutely certain that you get to experience how nice it can be!” With that, he even takes off his sunglasses just long enough to wink at you, adding in a grin and a nod toward you; really playing the whole thing off for laughs and actually managing to pull one out of you.

You cover your mouth as you chuckle, and you feel an unexpected flutter deep inside you at his attempt to not only make you forget what he’d said, but also to make you feel better in the process. As you stand there, smiling at him, he frowns at you, looking obviously rather confused at your reaction. You take the few steps that separate you and bend down at the waist, hands coming to rest on either side of his handsome face, as you plant a kiss on his lips.

You must have surprised him since it takes a moment for his hands to come and rest on your sides, one of his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt in the same way yours had been on his wrist. As you begin pulling back, you open your eyes again and catch a glimpse of his behind the taint of his dark shades, and your breath gets stuck in your throat from all the emotions you can see in them. So many emotions, you aren’t even certain you could name them all, or if they even all have names for that matter. He leans back in for another kiss, and just as he reaches your lips, words fall from them, almost more felt than heard.

“Show me.”

Crowley looks up at you, his mouth hanging open in surprise. Your words seemed to have been the last thing he’d expected to hear tonight, but he quickly regains his composure and place a hand on the side of your face, caressing your cheek in such a soft - dare you say even loving? - way, one could doubt if he truly is a demon.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, a little too quickly, showing your nervousness and nearly hitting him in the head as you do. You grab what was originally his wine glass and empty what was left in it to try to hide your nerves, but you can easily tell he’s not fooled. 

“Anything you don’t like, or if you want to stop all together,” he tells you in such a serious tone, that it barely sounds like him, “just tell me.”

You nod again, not quite trusting your voice at the moment, although it comes bursting out of you in the form of a yelp as he pulls you onto his lap. Your heart is beating at an insane speed, but you cannot quite tell if it’s from the fright or from the smile on his face. Maybe it’s both.

He cranes his neck and captures your lips, in a way that could best be described as hungrily. Over the past few days, you’ve gotten more used to kissing; something that you neither had much practice in to begin with, but also had not done in, at least, several decades, and even then it was nothing like this. Although, you’re not sure that anything could ever really compare to kissing Crowley. 

As soon as your lips part, even a little, his tongue snakes in - horrible pun intended - and battles yours for supremacy. Heaven and Hell’s battle on a much smaller and more pleasant scale. He cradles the back of your head with one hand, keeping you close and burying his fingers in your hair, while his other arm is wrapped around your waist, making sure you don’t slip off his lap. It’s also to ensure your safety on his lap that you keep one arm around his neck, and not at all so that you can trace the snake sigil on his temple, which you learned yesterday makes him shiver and roll his shoulders in a most pleasing way.

After conquering your mouth for the kingdom of Hell, he seems motivated to continue his trail of conquests by kissing his way along your jaw before slowly continuing down your neck, sending a jolt of electricity up and down your spine. Your eyes flutter shut as he carries on downward until he reaches the crook of your neck and you shiver in his arms, warmth flooding through your body. Then, all of a sudden, you find yourself gasping for air, eyes opening with a start as his tongue runs along the sensitive skin before getting stopped by the collar of your shirt.

“Crowley!” You exclaim, breathlessly, chuckling around the end of his name, looking at him with disbelief over the fact he’s just licked you like that. He’s not looking at you though, he seems intensely focused on your collar, as if the fabric was there as a personal affront to him.

“Too many clothes,” he finally declares as he lets go of your waist and helps you off his lap before standing himself and it’s a good thing he’s still holding onto you as well since, somehow, your legs appear to have developed some sort of weakness over the past few minutes. 

He takes your hand in his and leads you to your room. With a snap of his fingers, the door closes behind you as well as the curtains and the few candles you keep there - along with quite a few you do not remember owning - light themselves up. 

He has already shrugged off his jacket and removed that silvery scarf he seems oddly fond of before you even realise that you should be removing some of your layers as well, but the truth is, you can’t stop yourself from just standing there, watching him. He looks so different from the angel he once was, yet so similar at the same time, and he takes your breath away just the same. He catches you staring and you glance away, minding your own clothes as your shaky fingers struggle over a simple button. 

“You’re allowed to look, love,” he taunts and you can almost hear the smug grin in his voice. As soon as you look up, that said smug grin is plastered on his face and he even does a three-hundred and sixty degree turn so you can admire him from every angle.

_Such incredible hubris!_

Once he’s done showing off though, his attention is back on you as he reaches out and moves your hands away from the frustratingly tricky button. “Let me,” he whispers in your ear and you do, until he mentions how nice it is to see you so distracted by him that you can’t undo a button; you’re just about to swat his hands away when he bows at the waist and presses a kiss to the newly liberated skin. Your knees, apparently forgetting their primary functions, begin to waver at the touch. He glances up at you before repeating what he’s just done, but this time that sneaky tongue of his comes out to play as well and he has the audacity to laugh against your skin as a small yelp escapes you.

“Would you _please_ stop looking so smug,” you chastise, smacking him softly on the shoulder as you step away from him and turn your back to finish removing your shirt. You barely have the time to take it off fully before feeling his hands on your hips. You’re just about to pull away so you can drop your shirt in the hamper when he places a kiss right on the spot where your right wing would be if they were out… and if it still qualified as a wing… 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he teases, running his fingertips along your arms and leaving little fires behind. You’re not quite certain if those are caused by him as a demon or if it’s simply your human body reacting to his touch.

You swallow hard at his request, unsure as to why he’d want to see your wings now, but instead of questioning him head-on, you quip, “why? You want to prove to yourself that you’re not about to corrupt an actual angel?”

Nonetheless, you comply, letting out your remaining wing and that disgusting stump where your other should be. You hang your head down, holding your shirt closer to your chest in some form of protection. Out of the corner of your eye, you get a glimpse of the two of you in the mirror to your right and you watch in disbelief as, once again, he surprises you, placing another gentle and delicate kiss on the amputated limb. 

“You’ll always be an angel to me, love. No matter what.”

The soft declaration melts your heart and your hands drop your shirt down on the floor somewhere as you turn around to face him. You’re so focused on his face that you barely notice that he is, in fact, down to his underwear as you pull him down for a long, one might even say decadent, kiss. Accidentally, your teeth run along his bottom lip and as you’re about to pull away to apologise profusely, he makes a noise in the back of his throat that might be the most incredible sound your ears have ever heard. Feeling emboldened by the sound he made, you try the same thing again, deliberately this time and with a little more pressure and he makes the same noise, only louder. Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s picking you up and carrying you the few steps between where you stood and the bed, you have the mental presence of hiding your wings just as he drops you onto the soft mattress, and climbing over you.

“I thought you were going to show me yours, if I showed you my wings,” you remind him, breathlessly, as you watch your reflection in his dark sunglasses. Despite the darkness of the lenses, you can clearly see your flushed skin and mussed hair; a sight you never expected to witness, in all honesty.

He pulls away from you and rolls his shoulders a bit as you mouth falls open; truth be told, you’ve never actually seen demonic wings before and they’re magnificent. The black feathers around him make his ginger hair and pale skin stand out even more and you finally notice just how little clothes he still has on. He had always looked beautiful to you, but in this moment, he might simply be the canon of beauty you’ll forever hold anything else up to. Tentatively you reach out, your fingers brushing against his feathers and he sighs in pleasure. All those sounds he’s making seem to flood your body with an unbelievable warmth, starting in the pit of your stomach. Your arm wraps itself around his shoulder and pulls him back down to you, crashing your mouths together again.

His hands are everywhere as your tongues battle for control, so much so that you wonder if demons have the ability to grow extra limbs on a whim. Every little touch makes you pant a little louder, breathing is almost impossible but you cannot bring yourself to care. You’ve never known your human body could feel the way it does now; it’s intoxicating and unlike anything you’ve felt before. Even the affection you’ve felt for him when you were both angels was different from what you are feeling now; back then it was a need to be near him as you craved his attention and admiration, but this, here, now, as you craving something else entirely.

Your hands take a page out of his book and begins running along his skin, from back to shoulders and up into his hair again which made him hum with contentment. He pulls his mouth from yours and you try to reach out to bring him back down to you, but he has other plans, lowering his mouth to your collarbone and peppering it with tiny pecks which tickle your skin making you twitch under him. Slowly, his mouth makes its way lower, planting a kiss just above your heart before carrying on even lower, pulling a sharp cry from you as his tongue runs along your erect nipple. You put a hand on your mouth to stop some rather indecent noises from escaping when he looks up and sees what you’re doing and pulls your hand away.

“I want to hear you, love,” he whispers, his hot breath causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I want to know that you like what I’m doing.”

“I do,” you respond without even meaning to and he gets the smuggest look on his face before diving back down to lavish your other nipple with his attention, going as far as to suck on it for a moment before letting it fall from his lips with a little pop.

His trail down your abdomen continues as he leaves butterfly kisses behind until finally he reaches the top of your trousers and you cannot stop yourself from gasping as he runs his tongue just above the button holding them close. 

“Oh, let me,” you whisper, trying to get him to move so you can reach down and remove the vexing piece of clothing; if your shaking fingers will behave themselves that is.

“I got this, love,” he assures you as his steady fingers begin working first on the button then onto the zipper, before pulling the trousers completely off your legs and throwing them unceremoniously over his shoulder. With a snap of his fingers, your socks are also gone and you’re left there, feeling quite a bit vulnerable in only your underwear. He sits back on his heels for a moment and just looks at you. “I wish you could see how gorgeous you look right now.”

He crawls back up to you and your mouth is glad to finally have his back against it, your fingers burying themselves instantly in his hair. One of his hands snakes its way down between you and you moan in his mouth as he begins to touch you through your underpants, your eyes wide as saucers for a moment before they flutter shut from his ministrations. 

Your heart is beating as if you’d been running from a pack of bloodthirsty Hellhounds, and your breathing is just as arduous, but everything feels so warm and oh so good. You force your eyes open looking at him as he kisses you and touches you in a way in this incredible way. He pulls away to catch his breath and you take the opportunity to try and do the same, when he takes his hand off of you and you cannot help the disappointed sound you make.

“Don’t worry, love, I’m not done with you yet.”

He purrs out the words and they send trepidation throughout your body. With a snap of his fingers, you’re both nude and you can tell he’s winking behind his sunglasses. You surprise yourself when you secretly wish he would just take them off. You keep watching him, entranced by his every move, and that serpentine grace he has. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and your leg quivers when he bends back down and gives the exact same spot a bite that he then soothes with his tongue. It’s obscene, and indecent, salacious even, but you can’t articulate the words to tell him how inappropriate that is, your head just falling back into your pillow, with a groan. 

“ _Crowley..._ ” 

Your voice sounds like a whine but you don’t seem to have any control on it anymore - or on most of your body for that matter - and you cannot be bothered to mind at the moment. You haven’t experienced desire or lust that many times since you’ve gotten your human body, but right now, it’s flowing through your veins and making it astonishingly hard to focus on anything else.

He pushes your legs open with his knee before settling between them as your arms wrap around him, one hand disappearing in his hair while the other explores the expense of his back below his wings. He lavishes your neck with kisses, distracting you from the slight discomfort you feel as he moves in you. A long shaky breath passes your lips and he’s already pulling back to make everything is alright, the hand in his hair pushes his head back down and you capture his lips again, assuring him without words that everything is perfectly fine.

You find yourself panting in the same rhythm he’s setting, and quickly your pants turn to involuntary moans; you’d be embarrassed by them - After all, they are far from angelic! But, then again, so are you at this point… - if you could bring yourself to care, and if Crowley didn’t look so wonderfully mesmerized by them. The sounds he’s making - moans, and groans, and hisses - are like music to your ears and more exquisite than any celestial harmony.

By now it would appear that your body has developed a mind of its own as one of your legs lift itself off the bed and settles down around his waist, as if it craves for him to be even closer to you. He responds with something that begins as a chuckle but quickly turned into a lust-filled whimper. You see one of his hands disappearing between the two of you, brushing against hypersensitive skin before reaching its destination just above where the two of you are joined. The touch makes your back arch, rising off the bed and you cannot kiss him any longer as your mouth is now required to bring all the air you can into your body’s lungs, every exhale sounding lewder than the last.

There’s a heat filling your insides, flowing through your veins and, for the first time since the Rebellion, it feels like you’re flying again, soaring higher and higher. Your eyes have snapped shut at some point, you’re not quite sure when, but you still see him in your mind, as a name escapes your lips. A name no one has spoken since before Earth even had such a thing as time. A name that no one in Heaven or Hell would dare say. But this is neither Heaven nor Hell, it’s Earth. It’s Paris. It’s your apartment. It’s your bed. And it’s _his_ name. His true name. That name from forever ago. That forbidden name that you still call him in your mind, and right now, out loud as well. That name that breaks down something in him, a barrier he’s put up deep inside, and with your eyes shut you miss out on the look of pure affection he gives you as he too comes undone.

Afterward, the two of you lay there, in each other’s arms, for a long time, the only sounds are your panting breaths, the rain still battering your windows and the thunder that just joined in as well. In the very back of your mind, you cannot help but wonder if it’s _Her_ way of showing her displeasure at what just transpired between the two of you. 

Eventually he rolls onto his back and pulls you against him, placing a kiss to your sweaty forehead before teasing you about it and giving you an affectionate _I told you so_ regarding the matter of sex. He looks so good as he grins, so obviously pleased with himself, that you can’t bring yourself to tell him off for his smugness. The only thing that could the picture before you even more perfect would be if your reflection wasn’t staring back at you as you look into his dark shades.

Your hand that was until now happily resting on his chest, enjoying its slow rising and falling begins travelling up along his collarbone, continuing onto his neck which makes him shiver and then cups his cheek for a moment before finally reaching its destination and removing the offending sunglasses. Carefully you fold them up and place them on the bedside table as he blinks at you, eyebrows coming together in a frown.

“Are you sure?” He asks, keeping his eyes half closed as if he was trying to protect you from having to look at them.

“I’m getting used to them,” you assure him, and the involuntary smile you’re rewarded with melts your heart as you gaze into his eyes.

Your hand reaches up higher, pushing a few strands of ginger hair away from his face. “Over 6000 years as a demon,” you whisper as you observe him, “how are you still so beautiful?”

He doesn’t have time to answer anything, witty quip or otherwise, before your mouth is on his, kissing him in a way, you hope can tell him just how much affection you have for him. Have always had for him. Maybe it’s this overwhelming emotion that pulls the words out of you, words you’ve wanted to say to him for so long. You keep your eyes shut as you rest your forehead against his, speaking directly against his lips.

“I would have fallen with you, you know... if you’d given me the chance.”

You risk opening your eyes, only to find an unreadable expression on his face, as if emotions were fighting for control inside of him. You can see his Adam’s apple - _Such a strange name for a body part!_ \- bobbing up and down in his throat as he swallows with some difficulty. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, let sleeping dogs lie as humans say. You’re about to try and control the damage you might have just done, when he presses your lips together, kissing you with such desperation and quickly you find yourself rolling onto your back, with him on top of you once again. He just kisses you and kisses you until it feels like your lungs are about to catch fire and discorporate you on the spot.

Finally he pulls his head back, giving you both a chance to breathe, when he says: “Come back to London with me!” You’re so surprised by the demand, that you just blink up at him. “Come on, love, there’s nothing really keeping you here, is there? No friends, no Heavenly mission. You just have to be here once a year when they send someone to check on you. You said it yourself they don’t even bother asking you for a report anymore, so I don’t see why you couldn’t just come back once a year and stay in London the rest of the time,” he rambles on, faster and faster as he seems to be looking for the perfect reason to convince you to go with him. “We’ve lost so much time, you and I, and I don’t know how long we’ve got until Heaven and Hell decide they really want their War. We might have a few decades, centuries if we’re lucky, but I want to make up for as much lost time as we can…” 

He carries on like this until he seems to have run out of all the logical - and some illogical - reasons he can think of and then, he just pauses, and take a deep breath before adding: “And, if that matters, I want you to, genuinely. Nothing would make me happier. So, please, love. Please, say yes.”

“ _Yes._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything this explicit in approximately 15 years, and this time I had the added challenge of trying to keep Reader as none-gendered as possible. So, please, be kind to me.


End file.
